What is left untold
by LadyPalma
Summary: Rosamund/Clarkson collection, because crack pairing is the way. Chapters are unrelated and each is going to focus on different situations actually happened on the show, but rewritten with Richamund in it.
1. The fire (5x01)

**Hello everyone! I told you that I would have soon come back with more Richamund and here I am, even if not with the story I had in mind at first. Actually, I had already three chapters ready for a story set in S6, but then my pen drive broke and I lost all my stories - including this one I'm talking about. Right when I was about to rewrite everything though, this idea struck in my mind instead: I have many different Richamund headcanons, so why not reunite them all in one single collection? Every chapter will be unrelated to the others and it is going to focus on one event actually happened on the show through the seasons, but rewritten with the addition of Richamund in it, considered in any kind of relationship (whether they are basically strangers, friends, lovers or even married). This is where the title goes: "What is left untold"- because it is something that never happened, but actually could have; it is something that we could have seen fitting into the original canon story and somehow could have even worked. Now, I'm going to leave you to the reading:)**

* * *

 **The fire [5x01]**

Rosamund Painswick didn't want to die, not even in the darkest and loneliest moments of her life she had given more than just a mere thought to that tragic solution; but right in that moment, it was not her seeking for death, it was death seeking for her and she didn't know if she was strong enough to fight that recall. It was not like her will mattered too much anyway, perhaps it was simply too late.

She woke up when an unusual bad smell invaded her nostrils and immediately got out of bed when she realized that the frantic loud voices she was hearing were not part of a dream. However, when she finally reached the door and opened it, she found herself quickly stepping back from her only possible way out in front of the unexpected strong light; and it was a dangerous light, because it was the light of fire. The flames had been knocking and now she had let them in. She widened her eyes in terror, tried to cover her mouth in order to save some air to breathe, but she didn't scream though: she knew it was too late for that.

Too late, because she had already inhaled too much smoke and she could perfectly feel her lucidity already abandoning her.

Too late, because there was no way out and even if there was one, she wouldn't have made it on time to take it.

Too late, because there was no voice anymore, meaning that everyone had left.

Soon, maybe too soon, she stopped fighting and she surrendered to her dizziness. Letting herself fall on the deadly warm floor, she closed her eyes even some instants before everything went actually black for her mind. She closed her eyes, with the awareness that it was probably the last time and with a desperate last thought crossing her mind.

She was dying like she had been living for almost all her life: _alone_.

* * *

The first feeling that crossed Doctor Clarkson's mind when he was called for a still unidentified emergency at the Abbey was annoyance. It was late, he was tired after a long day spent at the hospital and the last thing he wanted right then was to be involved in one of the Crawleys' tragedy. He grabbed his bag and reached the place in the blink of an eye though, and it was then that the annoyance turned into a pure astonishment for a moment. All the inhabitants of the estate, upstairs and downstairs, were all outside with fear and worry written all over their faces and then there was the bad, unmistakable, smell of fire filling the air the more he approached: that was not just a tragedy, that appeared to be _the_ tragedy.

"Doctor Clarkson!" Lord Grantham called him, and that call made his considerations stop. "The fire fighters haven't arrived yet, but at least everyone is safe… The fire has started in my daughter Edith's room and…"

"I'll check her immediately!" the doctor said, taking the exceptional liberty to caught the lord off given the urgency of the moment.

Shocked, dizzy but phisically unharmed: that was the first superificial diagnosis he could give after some seconds. It was relief rushing all over him now, Lady Edith seemed to be the most injured one and so apparently, there would be no loss except maybe for some furniture. Before giving a look to the bruise on the young lady's arm, he let his eyes run once again all over the crowd. Maybe Lord Grantham was truly right, everyone was safe… Except that it was not the true. A sudden unexpected suspicion broke into his new found relief, as he noticed someone. Or actually the problem was that he did _not_.

"Lady Edith… Where is Lady Rosamund?"

Despite her temporary confusion, she widened her eyes and in that look he saw the effect of his own very same realization. Incredulity, dread, indignation: that was what he was feeling then . How could have no one even thought about her? How could she be probably dying while slowly burning in a flame and no one was looking for her? How could he, a complete stranger, be the only one noticing, and only because he had been casually mentioned of her presence at Downton during a conversation with Lady Violet the day before? Well, maybe because she didn't belong really there. Or maybe because it takes a lonely soul to notice another lonely soul.

But there was no time for hypothesis or for being indignant; that was time for action and, unluckily for him, he was the only one who could make it. Fear for his own life was added to the mix of feelings, because he had already made a decision after all. He was no hero and, truth be told, he waited for as much as he could, until he realized that he just couldn't do that anymore. The smoke coming from the house was only growing; from where he was, he could see the fire fighters' car approaching, but he knew it would be too late in that case.

"Don't worry, I'm going to take care of this..."

With those simple hardly reassuring words and a sudden quickness, Richard just left Lady Edith's side and headed to the main door. Someone - was it Branson? Or maybe Barrow? - tried to stop him, but he entered before he could be reached. And that was the moment he stopped feeling anything at all - except from the asphyxiating heat surrounding him.

* * *

It was a luck that the fire was still basically delimited to one single small area of the place. Keeping a handkerchief pressed against his mouth in the attempt to reduce the inhalations of smoke, the doctor found a way through the fire easily than he expected. It was also easy to find Lady Rosamund, since her motionless body was half laying in the hallway. He was at her side in an instant, checked her pulse as first thing and raised her from the floor, paying attention to avoid the parts where she had been touched by the fire; then, he started to make all the way back, carrying her in his arms this time. Quickly, precisely, carefully: he was not thinking nor feeling, just like heroes always do during their glorious ventures. No, he was no hero, he had never been, but he was surprisingly acting like one now and he couldn't figure out why.

Maybe it was about his devotion for that family and in fact, it had already made him try to save them a few times.

Maybe it was about his own profession and the fact that doctors are vowed to save everyone in their power.

Maybe there was something about her. He had wanted to save _her_.

He realized that only when they were some fight fighters started to come their way, as they instead were almost making it out of the building once and for all. In that moment she slowly opened her eyes, two light blue stars that shined against that burning dark red around. She just looked up at him for a few seconds, strangely with no trace of confusion or fear; instead, there was a heartbreaking sense of loneliness and yet a fierce determination in that look. He stared back at her in awe and it was right then that he felt a surpising connection, that he felt the absurd feeling of being at home in that look, that he just knew that it had to be something about her.

"I don't want to die today"

"You are safe now, my lady, I promise"

* * *

Rosamund was apparently fine. Sure, she had several burns on both her legs and a pretty severe one on her upper left arm, but it was nothing compared to what could have happened. And yet, she hadn't uttered a word all day to anyone and she had even refused to see anyone of the family; so no, maybe she wasn't so fine after all. Not that Richard could blame her anyway: they had been all about to leave her dying and that silence was now just a sort of stoically stubborn revenge. Of course it was not their fault, in the mids of a tragedy they just forgot her… But that was _exactly_ the point actually, wasn't it?

"Maybe there is something else I can make the nurse bring you… A cup of tea or…?" he said at some point, breaking the long silence, while giving a careful glance at the tray of lunch still untouched on her bedside table.

She sighed softly but clearly annoyed, and that was the first sound that was actually coming out of her mouth, except from the ill-concealed hisses of pain during the check of her bandage on the arm.

"This may sound very unladylike, but I would need something way more stronger than a cup of tea at the moment…"

He blinked once in surprise, more for the harsh voice tone used rather than for the actual content. Then he just hinted a smile and stood up from the chair placed at her side, ready to leave her alone as everything in her behavior seemed to suggest.

"Doctor Clarkson?" she unexpectedly called him back after a few seconds, though. "Thank you for what you did."

He was even more surprised now, not because he was not expecting a thanking, but because he certainly wasn't expecting it at that moment and, besides, he honestly didn't want one. "You don't need to thank me, Lady Rosamund. This is just my job…"

She raised her eyebrows skeptically, in a way that made her look regal in spite of her currently weak condition. "So, your job is to jump into fire and play the part of a hero, now?"

"I am no hero. Anyone would have done that in my place."

"But no one did."

A whisper ended that short conversation. Her voice wasn't harsh anymore this time, but just tired and so damn cold. Their eyes met and once again he saw in hers that uncovered vulnerabilty, that heartbreaking loneliness. And his heart actually broke a little at that feeling, for her and for himself. And he was sorry, because, although he had saved her from a fire and was now helping her in the healing process, he honestly didn't know how to save her from this. She was not only burned, but also broken and he just didn't know how to fix her.

"I… I have a bottle scotch in my office and, even if it is totally unprofessional in my position to do so, I could bring it here. Would that be strong enough, what do you say?"

He said that only to tease her and hopefully downplay the situation. But maybe just that attempt could be enough, since, beyond every hopes, she actually smiled for the first time in a whole night and a day spent at the hospital.

"I'd say you truly are a hero, Doctor Clarkson"

* * *

She left the hospital on the second day and was moved to Dower House, so much for her desdain, only because she wasn't ready yet to come back to London. It took two weeks for a full recover, two weeks during which Doctor Clarkson went personally to change her bandages twice a day, even if he coould have actually delegated that work to a simple nurse. Truth was that it was never just a matter of check on a patient; there was always a small talk between them, sometimes a joke or a sincere vent instead.

He wanted to keep her company somehow and, most of the times, his company was the only one she wanted.

So, when the two weeks finally passed, they both were strangely sad about it – Richard in spite of the good result of her healing and Rosamund in spite of the fact she had never wanted to stay in Downton for too long in the first place. Because it was time for her to go home and it was time for her to say goodbye: the half opened luggage in her room, that he noticed on the day of his last visit, didn't leave space for doubts. She was leaving and the spectrum of departure was hanging in the air, making the situation somehow tensed between them for the first time.

"I hope we'll see each other again soon" she admitted softly, once her last check was done and the bitter diagnosis that she was officially fine was made.

Richard stared at her for a long moment, before he looked away and forced out a smile. "I hope not. It would mean that you are ill otherwise."

Rosamund smiled as well at the remark, but it was a smile that didn't reach her eyes, eyes that were showing a hint of hope they had never actually showed before. "I didn't mean to see you as a doctor, I meant as… As a _person_ " she replied, betraying uncertainty. "You saved me, Doctor Clarkson. I thought I was going to die in that fire, but I didn't thanks to you and… I just feel fine talking with you, I feel safe."

"That's not true"

"What?"

He pursed his lips looking almost amused at her predictable confusion. Of course she didn't know what he meant to say with that, he didn't know what he was talking about himself until the words were out of his mouth. His plan was to keep them inside and be reserved like he always did, even if that implied letting her slip through his fingers; but then there she was in front of him, asking him not to let go of her yet. Something in her confession pushed him to break out of his silent cowardice, and it was already the second time she was unwillingly having that effect on him.

"You always say that I saved you, but in truth it was you who saved _me_. I've always had a lonely life, maybe because I always thought that no one could have understood how I feel… But then, that night in the fire, I saw your eyes, blue as mine, sad as mine…" He paused and looked away once again, aware to have crossed the line, but at the same time aware that he couldn't stop himself so far. "So, yes, I hope to see you soon again too. In better circumstances, of course."

She remained still and silent for a moment and if he had been looking at her now, he would have noticed that the hint of hope in her eyes had only grown. Instead, he just felt the delicate touch of her hand on his cheek and then her lips shortly pressed against his in a chaste kiss.

"In better circumstances" she confirmed then, in a low voice and an actual smirk on her lips.

And they didn't know yet that in that look and in that kiss, another fire had just started. A good one this time, though.

* * *

 **Still here? Just some considerations about this first chapter. Of course I know that events went pretty different in the show and that neither Richard nor Rosamund was at the Abbey during the fire, but I hope you will forgive me for having to make some emendations, in order to make the story happen. As I hope you will also forgive the lack of accurancy for the medical info I hinted, I don't have any medical knowledge at all and that is why I tried to remain as vague as possible. I would be really happy to receive some feedback about your opinion... Hopefully there is still someone interested in this unusual pairing:)**


	2. About great-grand children (6x04)

**2: About great-grand children (6x04)**

 _"Your great-grand children won't thank you when the State will be all-powerful because we didn't fight!"_

Here it was again, one of her mother's ironic remark meant (willingly or unwillingly) to hurt her. Rosamund still coudn't actually understand what was the point in that, and especially, not the purpose even; sometimes the Dowager Countess openly admitted that she hadn't accepted yet her daughter's second marriage, and then some other times like that particular one, she seemed to suggest that that marriage and its consequences hadn't happened soon enough instead. Either way, Violet was accusing and either way Rosamund ended up hurt.

"Well, I probably won't even get to know my grand-children, so I can live with that…" she replied, as calmly as she could, even if her now stiffened body was betraying her.

But the older woman didn't read the signs apparently, since she just slightly shrugged and threw an eloquent glance at her. "That was totally your choice, Rosamund."

Rosamund was already opening her mouth to reply once again, when unluckily – or luckily, actually – Robert, Tom and Edith entered the sitting room, ending the dangerous twist the conversation of the four woman in the room had just taken. As soon as Mary arrived as well, the plan to go downstairs to welcome Mr and Mrs Carson back from their honeymoon was put into action, and Rosamund was actually the first to move and leave, not to lead the way though. She had another stop to make before that and yes, that was her own choice as well.

* * *

The door of the children's room was left ajar, so she could easily open it with a single soundless push without being noticed. Sybbie, George and Marigold basically lived there, but in that very moment none of them were present and the reason of her visit was actually a little guest who had joined the trio only for some days. Leaning on the jamb, she just remained then for a couple of minutes to stare at the scene going on in front of her eyes: a four years old girl was drawing sitting in front of a small table, and a man with an impressing similarity was sitting on the floor in front of her, answering to her many curious questions about… well, everything. It was exactly that curiosity the reason why she was the first to notice the woman's presence in the end, widening her bright blue eyes in delight and standing up quickly, taking the precious drawing just made with her.

"Mommy!" she exclaimed, running into her arms. "Look at it! Do you like it?"

Rosamund, who had bent on her knees to embrace her own child, took now the paper in her hand and gave a careful look at it. Some casual lines and spots of colours that led to give the idea of two female figures with very opinable proportions: that was what everything was about to an objective judge, but to her own eyes that truly was the best piece of art ever, anyway.

"Oh that's beautiful, my darling! Who are the they?"

The little girl's smile widened even more, in clear pride now at her mother's praise, and then just moved her little finger on the paper. "That is me… And that is Granny Violet!"

"Well, Greer, you certainly depicted her far more nicer than what she actually is" the woman commented not helping her irony.

Lowering the drawing just a bit, she met the ill-concelaed amused smirk of the man. "What happened now?" came the predictable question right after.

But Rosamund didn't reply and only let out an eloquent sigh. In total calm, she handed the paper back to her daughter and placed a kiss on her peculiar light red hair. Then, she stood up and slowly approached her husband who had just stood up as well. She didn't answer even then, but moving her eyes from her daughter, who was now back drawing again, to him, she felt her previous annoyance completely disappear and her face only showed now the most relaxed of the expressions.

"Richard, have I ever told you how much I am truly happy?" she asked in a whisper, out of the blue. And she beamed genuinely as to stronger confirm her words.

Doctor Clarkson looked at her for a moment in pleasant wonder and then, as he took her hands in his own, couldn't help but smile back. The fact itself was not coming as a surprise of course, he could tell by her everyday behavior that she was happy, he knew that; but what was totally unexpected though was that she was actually saying that aloud, never being the one to speak openly about her feelings – as wasn't himself too, after all.

"I want you to know that, because it is true. I am finally truly happy in my life" she continued, feeling maybe a bit encouraged by his touch. "Sometimes I just wonder what I would have done in my life now if I hadn't met you here during the war, if we hadn't fallen in love and if we hadn't started a family… I- I'm sure I would have been so empty and gloomy and alone without you and Greer…"

His reaction was quick and warm this time too. Now, he was holding her tight in his arms in fact, letting her silently know through that simple contact that her doubt was the same constant one that crossed his mind every morning, since, if things had gone differently, his life would have been that very same dramatic situation she had depicted for herself. All the difficulties they had indured through their years together, the uncertainties before their wedding and then the many fears during the pregnancy… Everything had led to that and he would have done everything back all over again.

"It doesn't matter, Ros, because we _had_ met. And now we have this life, it's real" Richard finally said, and that was a way to both reassure her and reassure himself.

Then, they just broke their embrace and both looked once again at little Greer, who chose right that moment to look up as well. Silently, all the three of them smiled, widely.

They were just lucky, she guessed, and also very happy indeed.

* * *

 **This came as a surprise, didn't it? I just wanted to write something to fix Rosamund's clear pain in the episode and I found that this was the only way to _truly_ fix that. Now, some short considerations I've made in order to write the chapter: I considered Rosamund born around 1973 (which is the last possible year considering Violet's meeting with Prince Kuragin in 1974), which would make her 46/47 in the months between 1920/1921, when in my mind is set Greer's birth. Why Greer? Just because it's a Scottish name and I fell in love with it since I first heard it on "Reign". Furthermore, I've imagined Greer to be portrayed by a younger version of Isabella Blake Thomas.**

 **That said, thank you very much for the wonderful reviews to the first chapter of this collection, I hope you liked this one as well. I'd love to hear your opinion about everything:)**


	3. About Mary and Matthew (1x07,2x03,2CS)

**3: About Mary and Matthew (1x07; 2x03; 2CS)**

"You must be happy now, aren't you, _Lady_ Rosamund?"

Rosamund quickly averted her eyes from the now more and more distant figure of her mother and then turned around to face the new arrived, with confusion written all over the face. Honestly, she couldn't tell what was worrying her more, if the man's cold tone or the simple fact that he had just called by her title. When they were far from other people's ears, that was actually very unusual – at least after they had started to develope a friendship, especially after her apparently casual stops at the hospital whenever she was in Downton and the visits he payed her when he was the one being in London instead.

"Richard, what are you talking about?"

"Lady Mary and Mr Crawley" he simply replied. "I found myself in the misdt of a conversation between Mrs Crawley and Lady Violet before and, although I'm usually not interested at all in gossip, I couldn't help but make an exception this time since you were the protagonist of it…"

She swallowed and widened her eyes a bit more, with the bad sensation of having been caught redhanded. Everyone had already blamed her for the unhappy ending of Mary and Matthew's story, but yet somehow Doctor Clarkson was now revealing to be the most feared judge of all.

"How so?" she asked, not fast enough, trying to sound genuinely innocent but sounding extremely fake even in her own mind.

"Well, I haven't fully understood what happened between the two actually, but what I perfectly understood instead is that you had a big part in it. Apparently, you convinced Lady Mary that she wouldn't have been happy with marrying a mere countryside lawyer. Can you tell me this is not true?"

She closed her eyes for a long moment, and when she looked at him again she opened her mouth to say something, only to end up sighing in frustration instead. Because she really felt the need to defend herself, but she just didn't know how. Her way of thinking was causing her trouble with others once again and this time, for the first time, she was truly feeling ashamed of it.

"Of course you can't, because this is who you are" he continued after her prolungated silence. And now there was a small bitter smile playing under his moustache. "You are practical, sensible and I've always admired you for that… But I guess I just forgot what this actually means."

"This has nothing to do with me or what I think of you!"

His smile widened a bit more and the bitterness along with it. "Really? And why is that, maybe because a countryside _doctor_ is better than a countryside lawyer?" He stopped and looked down, realizing to have said probably too much. He had never openly said which his intentions with her were and he had tried to avoid it so far, but now his sudden uncharacteristical bluntness in the matter was the only way he knew to show his upset. After all, he was a practical and sensible person as well. "But that's entirely my fault, my lady. I thought that there was something between us, I felt a very deep connection, but clearly I just misread the signs… I won't importune you again, then"

Even though he had always been quite guarded about his feelings, it was obvious from his look that he was suffering while pronouncing those words. His heart was breaking and hers was surprisingly breaking too. Had they really been courting for the past few months? Was their relationship something much more than mere friendship? _Yes_. But the answer was coming only in that moment, as well as the question in the first place.

"Richard, wait, please…"

But he had already tilted his hat in goodbye and was now walking away. He was leaving her and she couldn't blame him, she couldn't because she was the only one to blame once again. As minutes later, Robert's announce of the start of the war reached her ears, she exchanged a worried look with her mother, but then also let out an ironic smirk right after.

No battle had begun yet, but that day in that garden there had been many victims already.

* * *

"You don't like Miss Swire very much, do you?"

Rosamund raised her look from her glass and blinked in surprise for a few times, almost not believing her own eyes. It was almost three years since the infamous garden party and that was basically the first time Doctor Clarkson was speaking to her since then. There had been some formal greetings if they crossed path in the Abbey now that it was turned into a convalescent home, and also some quick glances during the lunch they had just had with General Strutt, but that was it. Instead, there could have been the chance of an actual conversation now and, just meeting his eyes, she felt that same connection he had talked about.

"I have nothing against her, she's a lovely sweet woman. Maybe it's just this. She's too sweet for my tastes – and for Matthew's too, I believe" she replied eventually, sipping a bit of whiskey, while trying to keep her normal composure.

Richard was somehow better at it, for he simply nodded slowly and then conceded her a small but yet kind smile. "One might think that you and Lady Violet are plotting against her in order to prefer Mary" he let her notice sounding even a bit amused now, even if that note in his voice lasted only a moment and soon faded into a thoughtfuland more serious curiosity. "Are you maybe trying to make amend of your mistakes and fix them?" he asked, nodding first at Mary and then at Matthew, currently standing in two different sides of the room.

"Maybe I'm trying to fix _us_ too"

Richard looked back at her immediately as that courageous whisper escaped her mouth, only to find Rosamund already staring at him. Her look was courageous as well and he was the one being surprised this time. She looked so determined, she sounded so blunt and yet to his eyes she had never looked so ambiguous as in that very moment. What was that she wanted? She wanted to fix the two of them, but how and, most of all, _why_?

There were so many things he wanted to tell her, many things he wanted to ask her. Or maybe, he could have just made one step closer and pretend that nothing had ever happened. Because _he_ knew what he wanted. But three years had passed and things were not fixed yet, so he kept silent and merely nodded, instead.

"I wish you good luck in that" he whispered back eventually, right before leaving her once again.

* * *

Other three years were passed, the war was over, a truce was made, but the actual peace treaty hadn't been signed yet.

It was the servants' ball and they had danced together more than once, both gaining the impression to be brought close once again; but then she suddenly disappeared with an enigmatic smile and without an explanation, like a Cinderella at the striking of midnight. She went to the library and that was where Richard found her some minutes later, giving him the back and keeping her look outside the window.

"Why would you choose to be here all alone? I thought you liked parties…" he said in a light tone to make his presence known, while approaching her.

Her whole body made a small startled move, but soon relaxed again and kept the position unchanged. "Were you looking for me?" she asked instead, sounding casual.

"Of course I was. You didn't realize you had lost your bracelet, did you?"

Rosamund finally moved her eyes away from the window, to look at her actually naked wrist at first and then at his full hand. Slowly raising her eyes to his face as last stop, she just moved her left arm toward him, silently asking him to put the jewel back at its original place. He did that, slowly and with slight hesitation, lingering on the unavoidable slight touch between their skins a bit longer than necessary, and trying not to break the contact between their eyes in the meanwhile. She was the one to look away in the end, but only to focus again on the window and, still silently, inviting him to do the same.

Snow, two close familiar figures and an unhoped passionate kiss who had taken seven long years to happen.

"Matthew just asked Mary to marry him and this time, she quickly said yes. So, they are fixed now… Can we be fixed too?"

"Yes, we can. We _are_ " Richard replied surprisingly quickly, but he didn't stop at that reassurance. "However, there is still something I don't understand… What do you want from me, Rosamund?"

Their eyes met once again: his look was serious and more than just merely curious, but hers was guarded and almost fearful. "What do _you_ want, Richard?" she chose to say after some moments, spinning the question.

She had probably expected him to have her same reaction, let the question drop or say something enigmatically, because that was what they both did when it came to feelings or matters of the heart. But he proved to be unpredictable once again, since this time he spoke and spoke clearly, even if it was clear by his tone that he was doing so more out of exhasperation than because he was actually feeling comfortable about it.

"I want you. I want to be with you and I want to marry you" he replied effortlessly, while the effort was instead all used for the purpose of not looking away. "But we are both practical people and so all of this does not matter, because none of what I have can be what you want. I don't have anything to offer you, except from quietness and a simple life…"

"And love?"

"Very much of it, actually" he said with a determined but yet painful nod. "I doubt this will be enough though, considering that…"

"It is enough" she interrupted him again, finally finding the courage to be blunt herself. She moved even closer and there was a genuine smile now on her lips. "Love is enough and I'm being very practical in saying that…" she continued, lowering her voice in just a whisper and ending it basically on his lips.

It was just a tentative brush of lips at first, but they soon deepen the contact, turning it into a more passionate, almost hungry kiss. It was as if they couldn't get away from each other and that was pretty understandable, considering what took for them to get at the point they were now. No one knew apart from them, but it had been seven years of waiting and hoping for them as well.

"I guess that is a yes?" Richard asked, as their lips finally parted.

"You haven't asked me any questions yet, actually…" she let him notice, with a small smirk.

He rolled his eyes playfully, but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his mouth as he heard her laughing too. But he soon grew serious again, as he took her hands in his own and finally asked the proper question in the proper way. Rosamund said yes without anymore delaying and the new shared kiss confirmed that.

They looked at each other in silence and in that new finally happy look it was like time was actually stopping, just for them though. As the snow kept falling outside and the Ball kept going on downstairs.

* * *

 **So, this was basically a collage of different scenes. I thought it could be nice to use an early setting and also, Rosamund's meddling in Mary and Matthew's story was an interesting situation to use. Rewatching 1x07 and hearing her talking in a derogative way about "living in a cottage" and "countryside lawyer" was somehow hilarious, considering what I'm doing here with this collection. Oh, the irony!:)**


	4. Rose's affair - The cricket match (3x08)

**4: Rose's affair / The cricket match (3x08)**

 _Dear Richard,_

 _this was a letter I was hoping until the last minute not to write. Sadly, I have to cancel our plans for the weekend and I am truly sorry for that, especially considering how hard is for you to take some days off at the hospital. Edith wrote to inform me that she and Matthew are coming to London for those same days and are going to stay at my place, and I don't have any actual excuse to deny their coming, at least not yet. Sometimes I have the clear feeling that they consider my house as a sort of hotel, but if that is the case then I am only sorry I can't always choose my guests. Of course I do not mind their company, but would I be too forward in saying that I would have liked yours more?_

 _We are going to meet soon in Downton, anyway. I'm coming for the annual cricket match in two weeks. As you already well know, I'm not usually much interested in the event, but this year I must admit that the idea of watching you play is giving me a certain curiosity… Oh, if Robert heard me now, he would call me a traitor! As far as I know, he is very determined to win this year, so be alerted._

 _The last time we saw each other you asked me a question. Just know that I did not forget about it, and I promise this is not an excuse to delay my answer. Therefore now, I am merely asking you to be patient – even if that may sound a bit ironic, considering you are a doctor._

 _I am truly looking forward to see you again._

 _Yours,_

 _Ros_

* * *

Things hadn't gone as planned: her guests were all day outdoor leaving her alone with nothing to do and in the evening, instead of spending it with the man she was currently courting with, she was dragged into an infernal and very miserable jazz club. But yet, Rosamund Painswick looked unpredictably happy, since that set back was giving her the time to think more about the question and, well, thinking about the question was actually what she did all the time. Tired after a long day and disapproved for her young Cousin's behavior, still there was a smile on her face as she was heading to her bedroom after a quick talk about the situation with Edith; little did she know though, that when she would have arrived there, she would have found a brusque interruption of her pleasant thoughts.

In fact, the reason of her disapproval was waiting for her, holding the reason of her happiness in her own hands.

"Rose, what are you doing here?"

The younger woman turned around and the pleading expression on her face already anticipated the content of the conversation they were about to have. "I needed to speak with you after what has just happened. I'm begging you not to tell Aunt Violet, please, or I would be sent back to Scotland!"

Rosamund sighed softly, the look in her blue eyes was full of severity, but yet there was a trace of affection and even perhaps empathy in it. "What you did is unbelievable, not to mention extremely unproper, don't you realize? I'm afraid I have to report this to my mother… You have to face the conseguences of your choices…"

However, against any prediction, as the sentence was delivered there was no further desperate pleading nor apologizes. On the contrary, Rose remained perfectly still and silent for a short while with a thoughtful look, until it became suddenly determined. With a quick gesture, she finally fully revealed the piece of paper she had in one hand, moving it teatrically in the air.

"I didn't want to come to this, but you aren't leaving me no choice, Cousin Rosamund" she said then and a real sense of remorse resonated in her voice. That didn't stop her from going on though, as she brought the paper now closer to her eyes in order to start reading. " _Dear Ros, I can understand your reasons, even though delatying our meeting is actually making me sadder than I am maybe entitled to be. I have always considered myself a practical and guarded man but-_ "

"Stop it! Hand me back that letter immediately, that is something personal!"

" _-But you are breaching little by little inside me, so much that I am daring to say and write what I feel, I have dared to ask you that question and I am now daring to hope. For all my life I have been a lonely man, a friend, a brother, a doctor –_ a doctor really? _– but now I am hoping for the first time to be something else too, for you_."

"Enough! Rose, take that letter back!" the older woman exclaimed again, fuming of rage, even if rage wasn't surely the only reason why her whole face was slowly becoming red as her hair.

The situation must have looked hilarious from the outside: after the first reproach, Rosamund had passed to action and was now trying to phisically grab the letter, while Rose was trying to get away instead, holding that incriminatory piece of paper for dear life and still keeping on reading. Basically, they were playing the game of the cat and the mouse, but it wasn't clear which role each of them was actually playing.

" _I am feeling somehing I have not felt in a very long time, probably never with this intensity, something that I was sure so far not to have the chance to feel, and that is because of you, mo gradh._ Oh, oh, he's Scottish, isn't he?"

The letter wasn't finished yet, but Rose decided to finish reading at that point. Probably that was because she had got enough information and done enough provocation, or maybe just because she didn't know where to escape anymore. So, she just lowered the letter and willingly finally gave it back to her cousin.

"I have nothing against this, actually it seemes like a wonderful love story!" she admitted, in a much more gently tone that characterized her more. "But it is just that I can't understand why someone who has such a passionate lover would refuse to understand my situation and my relationship with Terence!"

"We are not lovers!" Rosamund warned her, promptly, not letting herself be fooled by that new strategy of understanding and comparing. "This is exactly the point. He is a respectable _unmarried_ man and I'm not eighteen, so I don't need anyone's permission!" she continued firmly, even if according to her behavior she was actually strangely acting like a young girl at her first love.

It was Rose's turn to sigh, as she shrugged slightly and looked thoughtful once again. But when she eventually spoke it wasn't to reveal a new ace in the hole, but to show a real empathy.

"Well, but why haven't you told anyone yet, then?" she let her notice and right after that accusation, an actual kind smile formed on her lips. "Look, I just want us to help each other. You only have to keep what happened tonight to yourself and I promise not to talk about your Scottish lover until you don't want to do so…"

Rosamund remained for a moment in silence, not to consider the proposition just made but actually to think once again about Richard's one. Why haven't she told anyone yet, why indeed? Because she wasn't sure of her feelings yet or was it because she was afraid of everyone's reaction to a clearly not traditional marriage? No, she was more than sure so far and certainly she had nothing to be ashamed of. She just guessed that she wanted to be immersed in her own happy thoughts for a little while, before seeing them become reality, before having everyone sticking their nose in that beautiful unexpected surprise that happened to be the relationship with Richard.

"He is not my lover" she precised once again, unavoidably reddening a little bit more at the thought. "And you may do as you wish, since I have nothing deplorable to hide, unlike you!" she concluded then, confirming her inflexibility on the matter in spite of everything.

But yet, the morning after, in front of Matthew and Edith as witnesses, she promised to keep quiet about Rose's infamous adventures anyway.

* * *

"I never thought you would have made it for the match. You always made excuses not to come the previous years…"

Looking away from the field, which was currently emptying for the break, Rosamund turned to her niece with a rather unusual twinkle in her blue eyes.

"Maybe this year I had a special reason to come" she replied then with an enigmatic smile, which unavoidably caused even more curiosity.

But before Edith could inquire more and Rosamund explain better, they both were obliged to break their small talk as a rather dangerous interruption materialized in front of them. Literally as a thunder in a sunny day, Rose had in fact almost thrown herself in their direction and now was staring at them with an unusual crossed expression.

"Who gave me away?" she asked, looking consulvely from one woman to the other and then focusing for some reason on Edith only. "Was it you?"

"Certainly not!"

The answer came out so quick and natural that its sincerity wasn't put to question and so, obviously, the accusation was moved on Rosamund instead. "In case you don't know, I'm being sent to the north tomorrow with a monster for a jailor! But, oh, maybe you don't find Scotland so terrible, do you?"

"Rose, you can not blame me… _Truth will out_ , as Shakespeare says"

With the impulsiviness of the eighteen years old that she actually was, Rose took that answer only as a further provocation and prepared herself for the immediate payback. So, she turned around and welcomed with an almost evil smile Violet's approachment, who in her own opinion, couldn't have had a better timing.

"If you care so much about honesty, then it's only fair to tell Aunt Violet about your secret affair with the Scottish doctor!" she exclaimed then, showing clear satisfaction at her cousin's embarassment, a feeling that she was finding herself witnessing for the second time.

As for Violet, confusion and astonishment clouded her face all at once. "Rosamund, what is she talking about?" she asked, but at the same time she was thinking and it didn't take long for her to find an answer on her own. After all, she didn't know many doctors and only one in her knowledge was actually Scottish. "Oh, Heavens! Are you having a secret affair with Doctor Clarkson?"

In spite of the uneasiness of the moment, Rosamund surprisingly looked straight into her mother's eyes and just slightly shrugged. "Well, now it is not that secret anymore" she confirmed with that same enigmatic smile she had given to Edith before, a smile that could have finally a meaning. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to say hello to my _fiancè_ "

With those few but very meaningful words, she surpassed them and just headed to the other side of the field with her head held high, leaving behind a predictably disappointed Rose, a quite puzzled Edith and an exceptionally completely speechless Violet.

* * *

"We have a chance to win even this year, so our next move will be to…"

Doctor Clarkson trailed off his encouragement to his team, when he noticed a sudden lack of attention attended by a sort of uneasy astonishment. He frowned in evident confusion at first, but when he turned around, he found himself having that same reaction, plus a sparkle of apparently unmotivated happiness. He had been looking forward to see her since their last meeting in London when he had hinted, maybe in vain, to a marriage proposal. But now that she was in front of him in all her noble beauty and her innate grace, he would have liked to disappear instead, afraid to hear the answer.

"Lady Rosamund, I would call that a pitch invasion…" he finally greeted though after the first moment of surprise, with a small casual smile.

But if he was trying to keep a balance between natural teasing and forced formalism, she was giving much less importance to the second aspect. In fact, she completely ignored all the other people and just took a step more toward the doctor. "Maybe I only want to wish you good luck… And besides, I wished we could have a talk, _Richard_ " she said then, not only calling him openly by his name but also stressing it a bit more than necessary.

Richard widened his eyes, clearly taken off guard, and feeling for a moment as a young boy caught by his school mates talking with the girl he liked. "My Lady, I think it would be better to speak later…" he replied, trying to keep his composure, while giving a glance behind himself.

He couldn't help but pay attention to the other unavoidable listeners of their conversation: people of the village who knew him very well in person and her basically by name, people who, in spite of the good consideration for him, wouldn't have taken long to spread rumors through all Downton.

"Well, I don't have much to say, actually" she soon said though, attracting his attention back on her. "Just a word: _yes_ " she revealed then, with a pretended calmness, even though the small nervous smile playing on her lips was betraying her.

Now completely staring at her, he blinked a few times in incredulity, before an unhoped smile started to form on his lips as well. "Are you sure about it?"

Rosamund nodded and her widening smile only confirmed more that answer. At that, Richard let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding and, suddenly forgetting about the unwanted public, reduced the distance between them a little bit more, until her umbrella covered him too. He could have easily leant over and kiss her then, tasting her lips after weeks of separation with finally the right to do so; but as far as he did not care about the surrounding now, he knew he couldn't and his lucidity prevented him from doing just that. Instead, he took her hand in his own and squeezed it for a short while, leaving in that brief contact a clear promise. _Not now. Later. Forever._

"I would suggest you to let my brother win, so that he'll be happier later when we'll have to share the news" she whispered with a playful but yet still somehow touched tone.

"Oh, I knew it… It is a pitch invasion then!" he exclaimed, with affectionated irony and unusually complete joy in his look.

Finally, letting go of her hand, he started to walk away and, once he was back with his team, called out loud the restart of the match. And so he played, unusually with his mind completely unfocused and an absent-minded smile; and so his team lost and he didn't even care that much.

The day he had already won something way more valuable, after all.

* * *

 **This was hands down the funniest one to write so far - and also probably the funniest one I have thought about. I've always asked myself why Rosamund actually decided to keep Rose's secret at first in spite of her own disapproval and well, I decided to use the doubt to write one of these richamund AUs. This is how the letters and the blackmail show up. I hope you had a bit of fun while reading too... A feedback is always very appreciated!:)**


	5. The servants' ball (2CS)

**5\. The servants' ball (2CS)**

Richard Clarkson was not very fond of social events, balls even less, and honestly didn't even truly know why he had been tricked into going in the first place. It was not like he had been personally invited by the Granthams after all; it was all Isobel's fault instead, asking him to go with her as merely friends in order to be surrounded by one familiar face more. But she was certainly a more social animal than he was and, in spite of the still frequent disagreements, the Granthams were still her family, and so it didn't take long for the two of them to split their ways and him finding himself in one corner of the room, basically alone and dangerously attracted to the table of the drinks. So, after some short casual talks mostly with Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson, he took his first chance to excuse himself with Isobel and leave, even using the downstairs's door not to attract attention.

However, if he had walked quickly until that moment in the unusually desolated area of the house, he stopped abruptly when he arrived right in front of that needed door. It was wide open to the snow in fact and there was a woman with her back turned sitting on the floor in front of it, unavoidably blocking the passage. It was not a too well-known figure actually, but the refined coat she was wearing and the peculiar hair colour could not lead to anyone likely to attend the party except for one person.

"Lady Rosamund… You should keep that door shut, it is frozing out there!"

She didn't even bother to turn and, as she answered, her voice came tired and softened by the glass of wine she was currently hiding her face into. "I do not care."

"Well, I do" he quickly objected seriously, obtaining at least the result of making her glancing at him in surprise. "I am a Doctor" he added then, as if that could be explanation enough for meddling in the bad moment of someone he had never actually spoken to before. To himself at least, it sounded like that.

Her initial fletting glance soon became a persistent one, as she narrowed her eyes in the memory effort of recognizing him and finally she succeeded, as her slight nod confirmed. "Oh yes, Doctor Clarkson right?" she asked, while noting in her mind that as elegant as he looked that night, he could have easily passed for a man of a higher position.

What she didn't know though, was that he was noting something about her in his own mind as well. In fact, when she had raised her eyes from the glass with the aim to enquire about him, little did she know that in that move she had given something to enquire about in return. And, considering the watery sparkle in her look, it didn't certainly take a detective to see that she had been crying. That discovery was reason enough for him to meddle a little bit more and so, contrary to his reserved character but sticking to his professional bias of helping others, Richard took a small step closer. Silently and slowly, he sat on the floor as well in front of her, breaking the still safe distance between them only to offer her his own handkerchief.

"What is wrong?" he finally asked, as gently as he could, trying to win his own uneasiness for finding himself in such situations. "You are supposed to be upstairs with your family, dancing and having fun…"

Rosamund raised one eyebrow at the skeptical trace in his voice, but the actual ironic chuckle that unexpectedly came out of her mouth was caused by the content of the question itself. What kind of doctor he was, maybe a follower of that method called psychoanalisis which was very popular lately? Well, if that was the case, she was certainly not at the point of hysteria, even if the strike she had just received that night gave her a considerable push in that sense.

"So are you. But yet here you are in front of me, acting like the new Freud!"

It was Richard's turn to raise his eyebrows then for the rather curious parallel, but yet he chose to ignore it. "I'm not much for dancing. What is your excuse?" he asked instead, continuing to play his role - whichever it actually was in that moment.

The tone had been casual but a weak point had been touched and her hesitation was only proving it. In fact, the little relaxation she had achieved (maybe thanks to him or maybe thanks to the wine) was now suddenly destroyed, as she looked down and her body clearly tensed for a moment. She squeezed the handkerchief he had just handed her, as if she knew that she would have needed it soon to dry more tears to come; however, in the end, she raised the other hand instead, the one holding the wine, drinking what was left in the glass in one single gulp.

"I was supposed to get engaged with Lord Hepworth tonight, but then I literally caught him in bed with my own maid" she revealed then, in a sincere whisper that revealed now all her sadness. "And you know which is the funniest thing, Doctor? I didn't even like him that much, but I guess I liked loneliness even less… Do I sound pathetic and maybe foolish, don't I?"

"A bit, yes" came the quick surprising reply, which caused her to look up again with a single incredulous glare. But, despite the deceiving premise, he didn't want to insult her and there was actually a benevolent smile on his face. Not mocking nor compassionate, just benevolent – and maybe empathetic. "My Lady, you are smart, elegant and very… beautiful. So yes, you sound a bit foolish, because you had only luck in finding out his real intentions now and you certainly deserve better than that. This is, of course, just my opinion…"

Rosamund studied him for a long moment with the purpose to find a trace of irony that could betray the words and, when against her expectations she didn't find none of it, she just shook her head, deciding not to give much credit to his speech anyway. "You don't even know me."

"You are right. But I do _see_ you."

Their eyes met for actually the first time then, without any embarassment nor diffidence. It was a deep eye contact, not a single glance nor a glare, and it was like they were actually seeing the other only in that very moment – at least as something different from their respective social roles. But that new and unusual connection was also exactly the reason why the embarassment started to creep in again and so, they unavoidably ended up looking away soon. A silence fell between them, one that was running through the thin line between comfortable and uncomfortable and that seemed to have the potentiality to last forever. She was the one to break it only a few minutes later, though.

"Robert?"

Looking up back at her, his first reaction was to frown in confusion. However, when he noticed her eyes staring at the two embroidered letters on his handkerchief, he just shook his head and gave her a new kind smile. "No. It's Richard."

She looked up too then and finally was able to smile sincerely back. "Well, thank you, _Richard_ "

The doctor was the one breaking the eye contact first this time, before she could preceed him in doing so and silence could have taken over again. In front of her confused eyes, he slowly stood up from the floor and without any predictions, just came closer to her and held out his hand for her to take. He was taking her by surprise with that gesture, but most of all he was surprising himself, being so unlikely for him to take such confidence with a person of higher station than him, a person he had just met or, more simply, a woman.

"Can I have a dance?"

Funny how she was the one to have been drinking wine of the two.

Funny how he didn't even want to come at the Abbey in the first place.

Funny how he confessed not much time before not to be too much for dancing.

She let out a short incredulous laugh, but yet somehow didn't hesitate at all before leaving the bottle aside, grabbing his hand and standing up as well. They found themselves suddenly one in front of the other with the link of their hands that soon became the closer but yet still respectful link of their bodies. A music was perfectly audible from upstaris and gradually they started dancing at the rhytm of it. Thinking about it, the situation was getting even more absurd than how it had began, but then they were not thinking at all and so it only felt natural instead, and safe, and fine, a moment that made feel his repulsion for parties or her misadventure with Lord Hepworth so distant.

And on the other hand, in the night when servants and lords were exceptionally dancing together, how absurd could have actually been to see a lady and a doctor dancing in the servants hallway in front of the falling snow?

* * *

 **This is what truly happened right? I am almost persuaded of this and no one can tell me otherwise lol**


	6. When we were young (pre-series)

**6\. When we were young (pre-series)**

 _Summer 1891_

Far from his home, far from what was left of his family and far from his country: basically alone, to say it in one word. That was how Richard Clarkson was in his first arrival at Downton, a young and for some aspects still naive doctor, who had a life to rebuilt from the start and not many reference points to do so.

He was in his early thirty and if that made him already a bit too old maybe for starting to look for a wife, he was considered defintely too young instead on a strictly professional level. Therefore, he found himself immediately caught between the village girls' interest and the Grantham family's diffidence. Of the two, the second matter was the most subtle and the most annoying as well. Surely it must have been a truly bad luck for them to lose their trusted old doctor just in the middle of Lady Cora's first pregnancy. Would that unkown, probably unexperienced, doctor who spoke too little and with a too strong scottish accent when he did, be actually able to do his job? That was the silent question that was always hang in the air during the short visits he paid at the Abbey. No one dared to say it out loud, but yet it was perfectly clear behind Lady Violet's ironic remarks or young Lord Grantham's too apprehensive questions.

So, when that so feared question was actually spoken, bluntly and straightly, Richard was taken completely by surprise and the fact that it was coming from the youngest member of the family didn't help to ease his astonishment.

"Will you truly be able to help delivering my future nephew? I mean… Are you good at your job, Doctor Clarkson?"

Lady Rosamund must have been surely more than ten years younger than him, she looked quite reserved and, before then, he had never even actually heard her speak. And yet here she was, accusing him without making a big deal about it and staring at him with her perceing blue eyes as if she wanted to catch his answer just through that look. Honestly, he didn't know whether to feel offended for being questioned by a probably too snobbish girl or, on the contrary, relieved for finally meeting someone in that house not afraid to speak her own mind; without chosing one of the two, he just kept being surprised though, blinking his eyes a couple of times and trying to take some seconds to formulate an answer.

"If you are saying that because I am young, my Lady, then you are not making honor to your own category" he finally decided to say.

But if he had expected her to be at least a bit embarassed, he was proved very wrong by her unchanged face – exception made for the appearance of a little teasing smirk and a somehow dangerous quick look all over his figure.

"I am saying that because you are good-looking. And usually, that does not match cleverness."

His surprise only grew, but this time she gave him no time to recover from it. As she started walking away to join back her own mother as if nothing had ever happened, he remained lost in that astonishment for a little longer until a little flattered smirk formed on his lips as well.

After all, he was just a young man and now, she was the only English girl who had attracted his interest, without likely even wanting it.

* * *

Two months were passed and Doctor Clarkson had become pretty used to his new home so far. He came to know for example most of the habits of the villagers, and he had learnt how to deal with most of the nurses' crush on him or what every Lady Violet's glance truly meant. He had even learnt to predict Lady Rosamund's unpredictable behavior, or at least to predict the fact that she would have acted unpredictably. Because it was unpredictable to him indeed the times she decided to stay and talk a little bit with him, especially when he couldn't see a reason for that. He had arrived at the conclusion that she was pushed by a mixture of boredom and curiosity and, somehow, he was the object of attention she had chosen in order to delete both the feelings.

"I thought you had a footman for pouring the drinks or something like that" Richard said, watching her filling two glasses of whisky by herself.

It was one of the afternoons he had to pass by at the Abbey, only that this time he had arrived a bit earlier and didn't find no one of the family, except from her. And now they were alone in the big sitting room, taking advantage of the moment to have one of their usual talks.

"I could and maybe I should" she replied calmly, raising her eyes and handing him finally one of the two glasses. "But this way I can have a drink too without any witnesses and so without my mother knowing…"

He couldn't help but smirk in amusement. Oh, so it was about the whisky and not about him in particular, then.

"Well, but I am a witness. How can you be so sure that I won't tell Lady Violet? Actually, this is exactly what I should do…"

Smiling kindly at his evident teasing voice, Rosamund didn't pretend to be disappointed nor annoyed; instead, she just stared fully at him with a somewhat daring look.

"I'm sure you won't. Because we are friends, Doctor Clarkson, aren't we?"

Once again she was being unpredictable, once again he was unprepared. In that very moment, Richard felt his own heart warm a little at the thought of being called her friend and he couldn't tell himself if it was for a good or bad reason. He chose to ignore that potentially dangerous trick anyway and just shook his head.

"No need to worry, Lady Rosamund. I won't tell anyone or else I would have also to admit that I'm willingly drinking whisky instead of scotch" Richard joked, while taking some steps in her direction in order to to place the now empty glass down on the table.

But, as soon as he fullfilled his purpose, his look was soon called back up when an unexpected sound reached his ears and it was the new and foreign sound of her laughter. She was laughing openly, loudly, whole-heartedly and, the unaware lack of control was adding a totally tender note to it.

"You know, Doctor Clarkson, there is a chance I might truly like you…"

Richard just smiled in return. As for himself, he already liked her a lot.

* * *

Doctor Clarkson proved to be able to do his job indeed, when Mary Josphine Crawley was born in a hot night of July. His job at the Abbey was done and, as he was walking with Lady Rosamund in the gardens, he knew that it probably was for the last time. Not because hopefully there wouldn't have been any other reason for him to visit the Granthams anymore, but because she wouldn't have been there anyway. He had just arrived in Downton, while she was leaving instead probably for good, and those few months when their lives crossed were coming to an end right in that moment.

"There's nothing like an English summer" she said with a convinced tone when he asked her the purpose of her departure. Then, she went on explaining how she intended to stay with one widowed aunts of hers in London, attend events and, obviously, do what a typical high society young woman was expected to do: find a wealthy and possibly noble husband.

"What kind of man are you exactly looking for?" Richard dared to ask, trying to sound casual.

Rosamund just gave him a quick curious glance. To her, the answer was pretty obvious: it was the idea she had had in mind since she was a child, it was the answer to another question honestly, the one about what kind of life and love she wanted for herself. And yet, she hesitated for some moments before replying and when she finally did it, her voice revelead an unexpected trace of bitterness.

"Actually, it's not that hard to guess. Someone who is handsome, clever, rich... And disliked by my mother!"

She accompanied that last ironic joke with a short laugh, but the amusement wasn't enough to cover the bitterness. As it wasn't enough the slightly mischievous addition she made before surpassing him.

"Too bad that you are not rich, Doctor Clarkson"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Taken by surprise he couldn't help but decelerate instead, letting the distance between their bodies unavoidably increase. Not between their eyes though, because she turned her head to look at him and that stare alone was more eloquent than any other words.

She stared at him and he perfectly knew what she meant.

* * *

They met just one more time before that so called "English summer" could have actually started; for the first time it was not a casual meeting and for the first time it was her the one to visit him. Sitting in his own office with a thoughtful expression on the face: that's how he surpringly found her after a quite long surgery.

"The nurse told me to wait for you here" she said, standing up as soon as she noticed his presence.

"Lady Rosamund, are you not feeling well? Is there something wrong?"

Richard couldn't help the personally alarmed note in the voice at that question, but she just shook her head and looked down in uncertainty, remaining silent for some seconds. Actually, it was a strange behavior for a blunt and determined young woman like she was, and, although he still didn't know the real reason of her coming, it was clear that it wasn't meant to involve the doctor, but more likely the _friend_.

"I'm leaving for London tomorrow, Doctor Clarkson"

Oh, there was something wrong then, but it was nothing unknown to though. She looked up with a somewhat sad look in the eyes and he was sure that in spite of the kind smile he gave her, there was sadness in his eyes as well. Of course there wasn't a concrete reason that gave him the right to feel like that and he hadn't given himself time to rationalize the feelings he had developed for the young lady, but still he was feeling something and that something was a _strong_ something.

"Well, that's goodbye I guess..." he started to say, trying to keep control of his real emotions, "it was nice from you to come all this way to say goodbye... I can tell I will miss our little talks"

He had said something vague but yet nice, he supposed, so he was unavoidably confused when he found Rosamund staring back at him with a new expression. Gone was the sadness, completely overshadowed by a flash of disappointment and even reproachment.

"I don't want your goodbyes, Richard"

He widened his eyes, struck by the effect that hearing his name on her lips had on him. Even if it was filled with a still unexplainable irritation, it unexpectedly came as the sweetest sound to him and that was the reason why, instead of putting a stop to the potentially dangerous situation, he pushed to know more.

"What do you want from me, then?"

An uncharecteristically blush went to cover her cheeks, but it was just a moment before the hesitation she had showed since the first moment suddenly turned into impatience.

"I want you to kiss me" she blurted out, boldly, in spite of her visible embarassment. "I have never been kissed before and I want you to be the first to kiss me"

Richard widened his eyes even more as he remained completely speechless. He was taken aback, incredulous but also flattered and admiring of the woman standing in front of him. Too late he realized that he had closed the door in the meanwhile, too late he realized that she had approached him reducing their distance remarkably; he was trapped and, honeslty, he didn't even want an escape. She was a perfect balance of forwardness and properness, not just because of the contrast between her words and her now reddened face, but also because she was not throwing herself at him but actually asking him to make the first move. And after all she was not even asking, but _demanding_ it. She was not a lady, she looked like a queen and who was he to desobey an order of a queen?

And so, in spite of his doubts and reservations, he leant over her and gently pressed his lips upon hers. He kissed her, not because she was asking it but because she looked beautiful, because he wanted it and because he liked her on the edge of falling in love.

From a first tentative peck, it developed into a more passionate contact and it seemed as that connection between them couldn't come to an end. And even if the end would have come soon indeed, in their memory at least that moment would have lasted for ever, especially in hers.

No matter what was about to happen in London, no matter what life had in store for her, she would have never regretted the fact that the Scottish doctor was the one to give her the first kiss.

And the second. And the third.

* * *

 _Summer 1914_

Time flew almost without notice and more than twenty years were passed for them living each their own life. He heard about hers: a rich husband met right during that summer, a chance at love and a sad and quick ending to it; she heard about his: professional improvements, finally held in consideration by her own family, but no wife and apparently no sentimental relationships at all. A barely bearable loneliness and a craving silent need of love was the invisible thread that was keeping them together in spite of the fact they had never met again, but that was something that was about to change too.

It was July 1914 and it was the last moment of unaware peace, when Richard and Rosamund happened to be in the same spot of the Abbey's garden during the annual party. That was when Fate decided to intervene, Fate who for once had Lady Violet's face.

"Mama, do you think that-?"

Whatever question Rosamund was about to ask, was promptly interrupted by a mere look at her mother's left. She was not alone in fact and the person in her company was not a totally stranger. A man in his mid fifty, greying hair and moustache and peircing blue eyes: it was someone the younger woman had never met before, but yet she had the concrete feeling that she _knew_ him.

In the meanwhile, the man was curiously eyeing her as well and even though he was quicker to come to a realization, he was also slower to hide his unavoidable surprise.

"Rosamund, probably you don't remember Doctor Clarkson, do you?"

As they were being formally introduced, their eyes met again after many years and all came back in an instant: their talks, their connection, the kisses.

"I really don't" she finally replied, but then she made a mischievous smirk for only him to see, letting him understand that she actually did remember all too well and opening up to a subtle complicity.

Because after all, while everything had changed, there was still something that had remained the same.

After all, he was still that handsome doctor who was everything but rich enough, and she was still the most interesting girl he had found in England.

* * *

 **Hey there, I hope you are still interested in this collection! I'm sorry this came later than expected. Talking about the chapter, it was probably the most curios one to write, but I thought it would have been nice a pre-series setting and then, actually there is a strong chance that the two had met before she went to live in London... Huge thanks to downtonholick and ravena. thantum for talking about young Richard. See you hopefully soon:)**


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